


(Not) Missing You

by nnovis



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Fix-it, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22305016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nnovis/pseuds/nnovis
Summary: Jaskier was over Geralt, and he most certainly didn't miss that damned Witcher.  No, not at all.  Not one bit.  There was not ache inside of him, or any want to have Geralt by his side again.  None.  Nothing at all.He was doing a pretty good job at believing that until Geralt decided to fucking show up again.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 269





	(Not) Missing You

Geralt was not someone Jaskier was looking to meet again. No--not after that. "If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off of my hands." Remembering--it was like a stab to his gut, the knife burning hot as it was twisted up and around, cauterizing every slice it made in searing pain. Maybe he should make that into a song, ha! Geralt's--fuck that witcher--reputation be damned, Jaskier built it up and could tear it down just as fast.

If he didn't burst out into tears as he sang it, of course.

Songs about Geralt--Jaskier couldn't sing them. Well, he could, but not without breaking down. No! That was a lie. Really, it was more of a dignified sort of crying, not breaking down. Well--not anymore, but still! Even then, it was-

New topic. One that didn't involve Geralt.

A hum left his lips as he played a chord on his lute, paper sitting ontop of his knee. Trying to think of a new song wasn't.. well, ir wasn't turning out as well as Jaskier would like. The paper was horribly blank, and no words were coming to mind, not even any new melody. How pitiful, a bard unable to sing a new song. What, was he to be a parrot, shitting back any song he'd heard? A groan slipped past his lips, an annoyed look on his face as he stood up. Really, he was hoping to think of a new song to play before he reached the nearby town, but, alas, fate had another thing coming for him. Or perhaps it was his own self. Either way, he continued on his journey, fingers absently strumming on his lute, as if the sound it made would make up for the lack of Roach's hooves and Geralt's quiet footsteps.

The crowd in the tavern was wonderfully receptive, grandly enjoying the tunes Jaskier had to offer them. He had fun singing through his songs and dancing along as he did so, letting himself get lost in his familiar songs, still trying his best to break the old habit of looking around for Geralt after each song for an approving or disapproving look on the witcher's face, or that one look that meant I'm-enjoying-this-but-I'm-making-sure-I-don't-look-like-it as Geralt brooded in that damned dark corner of his. No. Fuck Geralt. _Fuck_ the Witcher, for still being in Jaskier's head, even months after that damned mountain. God, if he ever saw that _fucking_ Witcher, Jaskier would.. he would.. do _something!_ Like punch Geralt in the fucking face. Exactly!

With that thought in mind, Jaskier wretched his searching gaze away from the corner of the tavern and flashed a well-practiced dazzling grin to the crowd before him, focusing in on them and them only as he continued on, blocking out any other old habits and Geralt of Rivia, the damned bastard.

The time continued to pass and, when he was thoroughly at the point where he deemed his throat in need of a rest, he finally took a break, hushing down the few cries of protest it clambered from the crowd. He walked out of the room, out of the tavern, ignoring the few women that tried to make eye contact that he would not have hesitated on leading to the nearest bed some months ago. But, then again, that was before Geralt left an aching hole inside of his chest.

Geralt. Everything still came down to Geralt, and Jaskier hated it. Hated how his stupidly human heart still ached for what he couldn't have.

Maybe he should've had a few drinks at the bar.

Barely managing to, Jaskier did his best to shove aside the thoughts of that motherfucking Witcher as he paid for a room with some of the newly acquired coins he'd earned from his recent singing and trudged into the room, wearily placing down his lute nearby the bed in the small room, only just taking off his shoes before collapsing onto the bed. He should bathe, Jaskier knew that, but he was tired, body sore from days of travel on foot. With a worn out groan, he shifted his position on the bed, slightly curling in on himself, letting his eyes close. It was unfair, how he still missed Geralt. Especially now as he tried to sleep. It was absurd, how he actually missed sleeping on the hard fucking ground with a fire Geralt had made crackling nearby, Roach quietly nickering nearby. He hated it, how empty the inn room felt without Geralt sleeping nearby, or--it pained him even more to think about it--with Geralt next to him in especially cold nights, the Witcher's body warming his own, and those nights where it wasn't even fucking cold and Jaskier proclaimed himself freezing (a blatant lie to the both of them) just so he could curl up next to the Witcher whose vocabulary only consisted of some grunts, "Hmm.", "Fuck." and, oh, of course, "If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off of my hands." You couldn't forget that one. Well, Jaskier couldn't, at least. No. It played on and on, repeating, repeating, each time the gape inside of him growing, growing. Jaskier had tried to fill it--with women and men alike, with shitty and good ale, and, of course, with his music. None of it worked for a long time, only temporary solutions before that raw pain came back. Always, he was reminded of Geralt. Always, always, always, and Jaskier hated it, hated being lovesick over a stupid fucking Witcher who thought of Jaskier as nothing but a curse upon his life, how Jaskier, despite the hate, the anger, the everything, he still couldn't help but-

The knock on the door startled him, jolting the bard from his thoughts. Perhaps for a good reason, too--thinking of Geralt never brought anything good. Then again, he did it regularly, so, perhaps that had some metaphorical meaning to it. Maybe he could make it into a song. Ho exquisite. The second knock fully pulled him from his thoughts this time and, with it, he quietly swore to himself, a tad annoyed. "No encore tonight. As I said at the show, I will be playing-"

And then the door started to open.

"Hey!" Yes, yelling out hey will stop a thief in his fucking tracks. Good job to himself. Hadn't Jaskier locked the door-? No, of course not, he'd been too tired. Geralt would've scolded him--not the time to think about Geralt. Trying to think fast, he reached down to the ground, grabbing the nearest thing his hand reached: his shoe. Good, he was proficient in marksmanship (no he wasn't) and, as the figure started to step out in front of the door, Jaskier chucked the shoe as hard as he could, hoping to hit something. Maybe the thief's temple, knock him out, or perhaps-

The shoe connected with a wonderful thwack, accompanied by a familiar grunt.

No.

"Get out!" Jaskier's voice was loud this time, and he hoped it was commanding, hoped there wasn't a tremble in his voice. Motherfucking Geralt.

"Jaskier-"

"No. No!" The bard cut off the intruder--that's what he was going to call Geralt, now, because fuck Geralt, that's why--as he spoke, his hand reaching down, grasping at another shoe. 

As the achingly familiar figure of the Witcher stepped out from behind he door, hand starting to close the shitty room's door, Jaskier chucked his other shoe at the intruder, which somehow wasn't dodged. A grimace came into the intruders face. "I deserved both of those-"

"And a hell of a lot more than those!" Jaskier's voice grew louder as he let the anger wrap around him, the hate he'd been building the part months, letting it overrun that joy of seeing Geralt again, that yearning to go up and greet him. No, now he wanted nothing more than to smash the Witcher's head in with his motherfucking lute.

Ger--the intruder sucked in a breath, amber eyes closing for a moment before opening once again. "I know. I.. Jaskier. Please. Let me talk."

"And what of?" Jaskier snipped back, jutting his chin up defiantly as he spat out his next words. "Are you here to speak more of all the shit I've dumped into yout life? Is that it?"

Was that guilt Jaskier saw flicking onto Geral--the intruder's face? "I fucked up, Jaskier. I-"

"No shit! Thanks for pointing out the obvious." Jaskier scowled. Was he getting followed just for this bullshit?

"Would you stop cutting me off?" The intruder's voice rose, tone one that wod make any man without a mile radius know to be scared shitless. Expect for Jaskier, though. He was used to the 'scariness' of the Witcher, whatever mean face or words Geralt threw at him. Well, expect in the mountain. Whoops. Maybe he wasn't entirely immune to Geralt.

"No thanks. Talking to you might shovel more shit into your life. We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Jaskier shifted his position, turning around on the bed so he wouldn't have to face the door and, consequently, the--Geralt. Might as fucking well call him by name.

"Jaskier, I didn't mean-"

"Oh, you fucking meant it alright! Otherwise you wouldn't have said it. Don't tell me that.. that horseshit and expect me to act all merry and happy and forgiving, because I won't!" He yanked the covers up over him, holding them tight because, maybe, Geralt won't see the tremble in his hands. "Good night, Geralt. I'm going to sleep now, so, please, fuck off." Maybe he was being harsh with his own words, but it wasn't as harsh as the words Geralt's words to him. As Geralt had said earlier, he deserved what hit him--literally and figuratively, now.

"Fuck."

Jaskier couldn't see the Witcher's face as he used his frequent word of vocabulary, nor did he want to. Because he knew damn well seeing Geralt's face right now might put him forth on the path to forgiving Geralt, which was something he most certainly didn't want. No. He never wanted that stupid Witcher back, and he certainly didn't miss that same stupid Witcher at all. And, so, when he heard the Witcher's footsteps drawings near, he screwed his eyes shut tightly, refusing to look at Geralt, because fuck Geralt.

"Jaskier." The Witcher started again when he'd stopped moving. Jaskier said nothing, perhaps on purpose to let the Witcher speak, because maybe Jaskier did miss Geralt and his stupid Geralt voice. "I.. said things I shouldn't have said to you. It was unfair of me, to take my anger out in you at the time. And.. stupid."

"Very stupid." Jaskier agreed with a quiet sniffle.

The Witcher was silent for a moment, trying to piece words together. After a bit of it, he swore, and started up again. "Despite how.. annoying I always say you are, I.. miss your presence beside me in my travels. Especially your voice. And songs."

"Are you sure this is you, Geralt?" Jaskier piped up despite his own want not to. Perhaps his want for Geralt overweighed whatever semblance of wanting to grant Geralt's wish to finally fuck off. Was that latter want even a want, though? "You.. you're going to have to do a lot more than this apology if you want me back, you know." He huffed, finally opening his eyes, only to find Geralt crouched down and way too incredibly fucking close to his face. Warmth immediately blossomed in his cheeks, and he tried to fight it down. Clearing his throat, as if he wasn't bothered by the closeness of Geralt's face, he continued. "I'm going to put you through hell. Make you rub chamomile onto my arse. And let me ride on Roach." The Witcher raised a brow at the last one. Jaskier defiantly jutted up his chin. "Do you want me back or not, Witcher?"

Geralt gave a grunt. A yes, something Jaskier could tell from how long he'd travelled with the other male.

"Good. I will also require.. other things that I don't know yet, but they will be needed if this apology is ever going to go anywhere." He finished, holding eye contact with the Witcher, because he wasn't a coward, and he most certainly wasn't succumbing to the desire to have Geralt in his life again.

"...Alright, bard. I suppose I can agree to those terms." Geralt agreed, giving a nod.

Jaskier couldn't help the grin that came into his face. "Brilliant! Now," He scooted over, patting the the now-open spot on the bed. "It's cold, and this blanket isn't doing much. Do help your sweet bard so he doesn't freeze overnight, please." Geralt rose a brow at him, an action Jaskier returned. "Are we backing out of this apology already?" He questioned, earning a sigh from Geralt, who knew he'd lost. "Mhm. That's what I thought--wait! Don't come in here if you have some monster blood or guts on you! Because I refuse to sleep next to-" Jaskier was shut up as Geralt laid down on the bed, throwing an arm over him and pulling the bard closer to him (which didn't help make the blush on Jaskier's cheeks go away at all, thank you very much.).

"Shut up, bard."

Jaskier huffed. "Only because I'm tired." Which may or may not be the reason why he was shutting up as he shifted closer into the Witcher and his warmth, not caring if Geralt found it weird or some damn shit, because.. because, well- "I missed you, Geralt."

Silence, and then, "I missed you too, Jaskier."

Perhaps Jaskier was a curse to Geralt, but to Jaskier, Geralt was a blessing. A blessing that he fell asleep with, letting Geralt's slow heartbeat drift him off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like this? is shitty?? but whatever ig. also my lazy ass needs to stick to one fandom like damn 😔😔 can't write for both at once. but such is such :') hope it wasn't too bad eyyy


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